The Flight of the Griffin (35 page)

‘Well hello, one and all,’ panted Belial. ‘So glad to have you all gathered here to meet at this most auspicious of times.’ He pushed the two sides further apart with all of his strength and it was obvious that he had others behind him also attempting to come through. He flopped to the floor and another face appeared. This one wasn’t the same beautiful flawless human face as Belial’s. It was hideous enough to chill the blood of the most seasoned of warriors, black as night with blood-red eyes, and a mouth filled with teeth that dripped saliva and gore. It gave a deep snarl as it fought with the dimensional rift. Large clawed hands took over enlarging the hole where Belial had left off and other hands started to help, grabbing eagerly at the growing doorway. Before anyone had a moment to react, three steaming demons were standing in the temple with more coming through.

Throwing its hands up to its face, one of the demons gave a high-pitched scream as Quint’s arrow struck one of its eyes while Pardigan’s knife quickly found its other.

‘Remember,’ shouted Quint, ‘the only way to kill them is by striking deep through their eyes.’

The demon he had struck continued to squeal, clawing at its face, trying to pull both blade and arrow out at the same time. It fell to the floor, twitching, completely ignored by its comrades.

‘Not so pleased to see us then?’ said Belial with a smile. He bent down and pulled the knife from the demon’s face and flung it at the closest sailor who fell to the ground with a gurgling cry, the knife protruding from his chest.

Quint confronted the Hawk.

‘Are you with us or against us?’ Matheus’s answer was to slash his sword down at Belial who blocked it easily.

‘We have to close that hole,’ whispered Quint to Loras, who nodded. Two demons were fighting to get through, hindering each other’s progress in their eagerness to get at the human feast. Belial began hitting at them, trying to force one back so the other could come through more easily and it growled and shrieked with anger.

The sailors launched themselves at Belial from behind with a flurry of blows, one lifting a large stone candleholder, striking it across the back of his head. The demon king turned in fury and struck out, hurling three sailors across the temple with a red burst of Chaos energy, to land in a heap against the wall. Two others spun and ran for the doorway. Belial’s laughter was caught short as both
The
Griffin’s
crew and Matheus Hawk attacked, united against the common enemy.

Tarent and Mahra charged into a tall demon with long white hair that was walking hunched over, swinging a massive sword wildly about. The huge blade narrowly missed Mahra as she leapt, shimmering into the form of the panther and setting her teeth deep into its neck; unbalanced, it fell to the ground. Tarent ran to her aid and finished the demon by driving his blade through its head. Mahra hung on until the demon gasped its last breath and lay still. Then she rose looking for fresh prey.

Belial was defending the tear in the dimensional rift, trying to get more of his army through, which was proving difficult. His magic was almost useless, with Loras stopping anything he did and he’d already slapped down several arrows fired by Quint. The last he snatched from the air with lightning reflexes and hurled it back, striking Quint’s shoulder. The armour held, but Quint was badly bruised and found he could no longer draw the bow.

As Belial became occupied with three seamen, Loras took the opportunity and ran over to apply healing energy of Order as the battle continued around them.

‘I can’t get close enough to that hole thing. If I could, I think I could close it without a problem, but I need to touch both sides at once.’ Loras peered into his friend’s face seeing the pain gradually subside.

‘Follow me,’ said Quint, rising stiffly. ‘Let’s see what we can do.’

Towards the back of the group, Mustep was with a panicking Bartholomew, desperately seeking some avenue of escape. Unfortunately, the front entrance to the temple was on the other side of the fighting and Quint and Loras were blocking access to the door through which the priest had escaped.

‘Get me out of here and I’ll make you a rich man,’ gasped Bartholomew, clinging onto Mustep’s robes. The knifeman glanced round and pulled Bartholomew from the floor.

‘Come, come this way,’ He dragged Bartholomew to the very edge of the fighting, intending to make a dash when the opportunity presented itself. However, a small demon saw them and charged from the group shrieking with glee. Newly arrived from the demon realm it was ravenously hungry and Bartholomew promised a tasty meal beyond anything it had thought possible. As it came, it raised a jagged sword, Bartholomew drew back in fear and Mustep threw a knife. The knifeman may not have been a match for Pardigan, but he was good. The knife glanced from the demon's nose and entered its eye, its only point of vulnerability, killing it instantly. Momentum drove it forwards towards Mustep and the sword came down delivering the unfortunate knifeman a deadly blow. He cried out in agony and his blood splashed across the cowering Bartholomew. The merchant jumped up screaming, driven beyond reason by panic and fear and dashed for the door.

Tossing aside the broken body of a sailor, Belial saw Bartholomew coming and held out an arm, grabbing the panicked merchant by the throat as he ran past. Bartholomew let out a squeal.

‘Eeeeekk!’

‘Are you going somewhere without me, my fat friend?’ Belial threw back his head laughing, then with mouth wide and teeth bared he bit down onto Bartholomew’s shoulder. Both screamed. Bartholomew screamed because of the madness and the pain and Belial because he now had sight in only one eye. Matheus Hawk, seeing his partner in trouble, had rushed forward and catching the demon king unaware for once, had driven his sword home. It didn’t kill him, but Belial threw Bartholomew to the side and turned upon Matheus.

‘La-il-eb,’
shouted the Hawk in desperation as Belial’s sword flashed forward in a series of lightning cuts, forcing the hunter to stagger back.

‘That won’t work again,’ growled Belial through a mask of blood. He launched himself in another stinging combination, leaving the side of the dimensional rift for the first time.

Quint saw the opportunity and dodged past Tarent, who was keeping the only other two surviving demons occupied with the help of one of the last sailors still alive, then drawing an arrow, shot straight into the eye of the next demon attempting to come through the rift, it fell back with a hideous scream. Loras quickly dashed forward and cast a wall of air inside before running his fingers along the seam of the hole, searching for a means to close it. He turned and hissed to Quint excitedly.

‘Help me hold them back, I can close this!’ He added more strength to the wall of air that he had pushed through the hole, frustrating the attempts of most of the demons to get close. A horrific vision of snarling faces could be seen in the darkness beyond but now all that was emerging was an appalling smell. Quint’s sword slashed down at a hand that managed to get past and hold the edge, it quickly withdrew. Without any force applied to it, the hole started closing of its own accord and frantic, desperate hands scrabbled to keep it open. Quint slashed and stabbed at the snarling demons, protecting Loras as he cast his magic on the hole to speed the process.

Behind them, Mahra had her jaws clamped around a demon’s wrist, her weight stopping the huge creature from raising its sword. It was lifting its arm and swinging her around making it impossible for anyone to get in and attack it. The panther held on in grim determination and just as she was losing her grip, Pardigan place-shifted onto the demon’s chest and stabbed a knife into its unprotected eye, blood spurted upwards over his hand and chest.

‘Oh yuck!’ he pulled out his knife and the demon let out a pitiful scream, falling to the floor with the two friends holding on as the final stage of its life twitched and bucked away.

At the back of the temple, oblivious to all else and unaware that his rift between dimensions was now far too small for any more of his army to join him, Belial was easily getting the better of Matheus Hawk. The tall hunter continued to fend his blows off and had cast a shimmering shield, which he held outstretched with growing desperation but the demon king was simply playing with him. Behind them, unseen by Belial, a lone arm thrashed about in mid-air from the shrinking rift, unable to go forward or return it was caught in an ever-tightening grip by the hole, which finally closed. The arm dropped to the floor with a soggy flop and twitched for a moment before going still.

One last remaining demon still fought but was losing to the blades of Tarent and Pardigan. At last it fell and the tired fighters confronted the demon king together.

‘Demon,’
yelled Quint.

Belial stopped the sword strike he was aiming at Matheus and, sensing the silence, slowly turned to see
The
Griffin’s
crew fanned out behind him. He pushed aside the shield of energy and grabbed Matheus by the throat.

‘It would appear we are at an impasse. I have this human and you have … well nothing really, I think I'll simply kill him and be done.’ His remaining good eye stared at Quint as he raised the sword and began to slowly push it into Matheus’s throat, the skin broke and a trickle of blood dribbled down onto Matheus’s chest. The hunter remained silent.

‘Wait!’
called Pardigan. ‘Just leave him and…’ an arrow sped past and imbedded itself in the bloody socket of Belial’s former eye, the demon king screamed and was knocked back several paces. Somehow still alive and retaining his grip on Matheus, he raised his sword once more.

‘Can’t kill me, eh? I was once told you humans say that all beings are born equal, but unfortunately for you I was born a little more equal than anything else!’ The gruesome face swung towards Matheus Hawk and the sword once again pushed at his throat. ‘Your pretty skulls don’t work, do they, the set is incomplete. You have failed.’ His remaining eye scanned the crew as they stood around him, exhausted from the fighting. ‘I shall kill this one … then I shall kill all of you, one by one. I am Belial, King of demons, and you should have known you can never defeat me.’ The blade slid deeper, drawing more blood from Matheus’s throat.

Tarent stepped forward. It wasn’t meant to be like this, he could sense it, feel it, and the priest in him knew it. He still didn’t know what his choice must be but he was aware it was fast approaching. Walking slowly he closed on the demon, his twin swords drawn but held low at his sides.

‘Demon, you are a lord of Chaos, and I am a priest of the Source. Let us end it, here and now, you and I.
This
is how it is meant to be, how it will always be, a battle between Order and Chaos, we both know that. Let the old man go.’

Gazing at Tarent through a mask of blood, Belial threw the hunter to the side.
‘Source priest,’
he spat the words with contempt. ‘So you choose to die before your friends do you? How…noble of you,’ his voice dripped with scorn. ‘So be it, if that is your wish;
then die!
’

His attack was one of blinding fury, a demonic whirlwind that drove Tarent stumbling back tripping over the temple’s benches. But before the demon could hasten a finishing blow he cried out, as a knife struck a heavy blow to the side of his head. Belial snarled, his head jerking around, blood spraying through the air searching for the knife-thrower.

Tarent staggered back to his feet. ‘No, Pardigan, this is my fight, I
will
find the balance. Please, believe in me and keep back, all of you.’ Despite his words Tarent knew his friend’s knife had just saved his life.

Now clear of the benches, it was Tarent’s turn to attack and for several moments it appeared as if the fight may indeed go in his favour, then as one of his blades flashed forward, Belial managed to trap it under his arm. The demon tore it from Tarent’s grasp and swiftly brought his own sword down, shattering Tarent’s second blade, leaving the Source priest unarmed. The demon gave a great howl of triumph, his one good eye glaring around at the others in unspoken challenge as they moved restlessly about the two combatants, unsure of what to do.

Tarent felt the icy fingers of fear and uncertainty travel up his spine
.
Was it really all for nothing then? He saw Belial smile and make ready for his final strike. Had the Source deserted him in his final time of need? Had his understanding been so wrong, so misplaced? Would Chaos prevail? He began to wonder if his part in the Quest had been a waste; had the book chosen the wrong person? Had he ever really understood his role as a warrior priest? A priest who carried a deadly weapon? But then his moment of doubt ended and he knew the Source had chosen correctly, that the Book of Challenges had merely been its instrument. The Source was love, pure and simple. As a priest of the Source he could never strike from hatred or fear, but he
could
strike for a just cause, to restore the balance, he simply had to have the belief and conviction to carry it through.

Hearing his name shouted, he turned to see Quint throw a sword, the blade shimmering as it flew through the air. Leaping to catch it, his fingers curled around the grip and Tarent landed just in time to duck beneath the demon’s slashing blade.

Now armed, both with blade and conviction, he was once again ready for the fight. ‘Killing you isn’t the most important thing,’ Tarent stared at the demon, ‘it never really has been.’